Upon all judgment, fenfe, and wit,

And settle it as they think fit

On one another, like the choice

Of Perfian princes, by one horse's voice :
For thofe fine pageants which fome raise,
Of falfe and difproportion'd praise,
T'enable whom they please t' appear
And pafs for what they never were,
In private only being but nam'd,
Their modefty must be afham'd,
And not endure to hear,

And yet may be divulg'd and fam'd,
And own'd in public every where :

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So yain some authors are to boast.

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Their want of ingenuity, and club
Their affidavit wits, to dub

Each other but a Knight o' the Poft,

As falfe as fuborn'd perjurers,

That vouch away all right they have to their own ears.

IV.

But, when all other courfes fail,

There is one easy artifice,

That feldom has been known to mifs

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all mankind down, and rail:

To fnarl at all things, right or wrong,

Like a mad dog, that has a worm in 's tongue;
Reduce all knowledge back of good and evil,
To its firft original the devil;

And, like a fierce inquifitor of wit,

To fpare no flesh that ever spoke or writ ;
Though to perform his task as dull,
As if he had a toadstone in his fcull,
And could produce a greater stock
Of maggots than a pastoral poet's flock.

V.

The feebleft vermin can destroy

As fure as ftouteft beasts of prey,

And, only with their eyes and breath,
Infect and poifon men to death;
But that more impotent buffoon,

That makes it both his business and his sport

To rail at all, is but a drone,

That spends his fting on what he cannot hurt;

Enjoys a kind of letchery in spite,

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Like o'ergrown finners, that in whipping take delight ;

Invades the reputation of all those

That have, or have it not, to lose ;
And, if he chance to make a difference,

'Tis always in the wrongeft fenfe:

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As rooking gamesters never lay

Upon thofe hands that use fair play,

But venture all their bets

Upon the flurs and cunning tricks of ableft cheats.

VI. Nor

VI.

Nor does he vex himself much less

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Than all the world befide;
Falls fick of other men's excess,
Is humbled only at their pride,
And wretched at their happiness;
Revenges on himself the wrong

Which his vain malice and loose tongue,

To thofe that feel it not, have done,

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And whips and fpurs himself because he is outgone;
Makes idle characters and tales,

As counterfeit, unlike, and false,

As witches' pictures are, of wax and clay,
To those whom they would in effigie flay.

as the devil, that has no fhape of 's own,

Affects to put the ugliest on,

And leaves a ftink behind him when he 's gone,
So he that's worse than nothing strives t' appear
I' th' likeness of a wolf or bear,

To fright the weak; but, when men dare
Encounter with him, stinks and vanishes to air.

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ΤΟ

TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF THE

MOST RENOWNED DU-VAL.

A PINDARIC ODE *.

I.

'Tis as impertinent and vain,

IS true, to compliment the dead

Is

As 'twas of old to call them back again,
Or, like the Tartars, give them wives,
With fettlements for after-lives:

For all that can be done or faid,
Though ere fo noble, great, and good,
By them is neither heard nor understood.
All our fine fleights and tricks of art,
First to create, and then adore defert,
And those romances which we frame,
To raise ourselves, not them, a name,
In vain are stuft with ranting flatteries,
And fuch as, if they knew, they would defpife.

For

This Ode, which is the only genuine poem of Butler's among the many fpurious ones fathered upon him in what is called his Remains, was published by the Author himself, under his own name, in the year 1671, in three fheets 4to; and, agreeable to this, I find it in his own hand-writing among his manufcripts, with fome little addition, and a few verbal alterations, as the reader may obferve, in comparing it with the copy already printed.

For, as thofe times the Golden Age we call,

In which there was no gold in ufe at all;
So we plant glory and renown

Where it was ne'er deferv'd nor known,
But to worse purpose, many times,

To flourish o'er nefarious crimes,

And cheat the world, that never seems to mind

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How good or bad men die, but what they leave behind.

II.

And yet the brave Du-Val, whofe name

Can never be worn-out by Fame;

That liv'd and dy'd to leave behind

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A great example to mankind;

That fell a public sacrifice,

From ruin to preserve those few

Who, though born false, may be made true,

And teach the world to be more just and wife ;
Ought not, like vulgar ashes, rest

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Unmention'd in his filent cheft,

Not for his own, but public interest.

He, like a pious man, fome years before